SCENE III.
Enter Duke, and Burris.
Du. Burris take you ten thousand of those Crowns,
And those two Chains of Pearl they hold the richest,
I give 'em ye.
Bur. I humbly thank your Grace;
And may your great example work in me
That noble Charity to men more worthy,
And of more wants.
Du. You bear a good mind, Burris;
Take twenty thousand now: be not so modest,
It shall be so, I give 'em: go, there's my ring for't.
Bur. Heaven bless your Highness ever. [Exit.
Du. You are honest.
Enter Alinda, and Putskey at door.
Put. They're coming now to Court, as fair as vertue:
Two brighter Stars ne'er rose here.
Alin. Peace, I have it,
And what my Art can do; the Duke—
Put. I am gone,
Remember. [Exit.
Alin. I am counsell'd to the full, Sir.
Duke. My pretty Mistris, whither lyes your business?
How kindly I should take this, were it to me now?
Alin. I must confess immediately to your Grace,
At this time.
Duke. You have no address, I do believe ye,
I would ye had.
Alin. 'Twere too much boldness, Sir,
Upon so little knowledge, less deserving.
Duke. You'll make a perfect Courtier.
Alin. A very poor one.
Duke. A very fair one, sweet; come hither to me.
What killing eyes this Wench has! in his glory
Not the bright Sun, when the Sirian Star reigns,
Shines half so fiery.
Alin. Why does your Grace so view me?
Nothing but common handsomness dwells here, Sir,
Scarce that: your Grace is pleas'd to mock my meanness.
Duke. Thou shalt not go: I do not lie unto thee,
In my eye thou appear'st—
Alin. Dim not the sight, Sir,
I am too dull an object.
Duke. Canst thou love me?
Canst thou love him will honour thee?
Alin. I can love,
And love as you do too: but 'twill not shew well:
Or if it do shew here where all light lustres,
Tinsel affections make a glorious glistering,
'Twill halt i'th' handsom way.
Duke. Are ye so cunning?
Dost think I love not truly?
Alin. No, ye cannot,
You never travel'd that way yet: pray pardon me,
I prate so boldly to you.
Duke. There's no harm done:
But what's your reason, sweet?
Alin. I would tell your Grace,
But happily—
Duke. It shall be pleasing to me.
Alin. I should love you again, and then you would hate me.
With all my service I should follow ye,
And through all dangers.
Duke. This would more provoke me,
More make me see thy worths,
More make me meet 'em.
Alin. You should do so, if ye did well and truly:
But though ye be a Prince, and have power in ye,
Power of example too, ye have fail'd and falter'd.
Duke. Give me example where?
Alin. You had a Mistris,
Oh Heaven, so bright, so brave a dame, so lovely,
In all her life so true!
Duke. A Mistris?
Alin. That serv'd you with that constancy, that care,
That lov'd your will, and woo'd it too.
Duke. What Mistris?
Alin. That nurs'd your honour up, held fast your vertue,
And when she kist encreas'd, not stole your goodness.
Duke. And I neglected her?
Alin. Lost her, forsook her,
Wantonly flung her off.
Duke. What was her name?
Alin. Her name as lovely as her self, as noble,
And in it all that's excellent.
Duke. What was it?
Alin. Her name was Beau-desert:
Do you know her now, Sir?
Duke. Beau-desert? I do not remember—
Alin. I know you do not;
Yet she has a plainer name; Lord Archas service;
Do you yet remember her? there was a Mistris
Fairer than Woman, far fonder to you, Sir,
Than Mothers to their first-born joyes: Can you love?
Dare you profess that truth to me a stranger,
A thing of no regard, no name, no lustre,
When your most noble love you have neglected,
A beauty all the world would woo and honour?
Would you have me credit this? think you can love me,
And hold ye constant, when I have read this story?
Is't possible you should ever favour me,
To a slight pleasure prove a friend, and fast too,
When, where you were most ty'd, most bound to benefit,
Bound by the chains of honesty and honour,
You have broke and boldly too? I am a weak one,
Arm'd only with my fears: I beseech your Grace
Tempt me no further.
Du. Who taught you this Lesson?
Alin. Woful experience, Sir: if you seek a fair one,
Worthy your love, if yet you have that perfect,
Two Daughters of his ruin'd vertue now
Arrive at Court, excellent fair indeed, Sir,
But this will be the Plague on't, they're excellent honest.
Enter Olympia and Petesca privately.
Du. I love thy face.
Alin. Upon my life ye cannot:
I do not love it my self, Sir, 'tis a lewd one,
So truly ill Art cannot mend it; but if 'twere handsome,
At least if I thought so, you should hear me talk, Sir,
In a new strain; and though ye are a Prince,
Make ye Petition to me too, and wait my answers;
Yet o' my Conscience I should pity ye,
After some ten years siege.
Du. Prethee do now.
Alin. What would ye do?
Du. Why I would lye with ye.
Alin. I do not think ye would.
Du. In troth I would Wench.
Here, take this Jewel.
Alin. Out upon't, that's scurvy.
Nay, if we do, sure we'll do for good fellowship,
For pure love, or nothing: thus you shall be sure, Sir,
You shall not pay too dear for't.
Du. Sure I cannot.
Alin. By'r Lady but ye may: when ye have found me able
To do your work well, ye may pay my wages.
Pet. Why does your Grace start back?
Olym. I ha' seen that shakes me:
Chills all my bloud: O where is faith or goodness?
Alinda thou art false, false, false thou fair one,
Wickedness false; and (wo is me) I see it.
For ever false.
Pet. I am glad 't has taken thus right. [Exeunt.
Alin. I'le go ask my Lady, Sir.
Du. What?
Alin. Whether I shall lye with ye, or no: If I find her willing—
For look ye Sir, I have sworn, while I am in her service—
('Twas a rash Oath I must confess.)
Du. Thou mockst me.
Alin. Why, would ye lye with me, if I were willing?
Would you abuse my weakness?
Du. I would piece it,
And make it stronger.
Alin. I humbly thank your highness,
When you piece me, you must piece me to my Coffin:
When you have got my Maiden-head, I take it,
'Tis not an inch of an Apes tail will restore it,
I love ye, and I honour ye, but this way
I'le neither love nor serve ye.
Heaven change your mind, Sir. [Exit.
Duke. And thine too:
For it must be chang'd, it shall be. [Exit.